


The Bootlegger

by storm_queen



Category: The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, F/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_queen/pseuds/storm_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cool was the breeze in the evening, along the darkened street.<br/>The city was retiring, closing shutters at every suite.<br/>But even in that stillness, you could hear the faintest sound,<br/>Of the music that was playing -<br/>     playing, swaying -<br/>The music faintly playing from the jazz band underground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bootlegger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameHardy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHardy/gifts).



> The fic includes a large amount of contemporary slang, especially at the beginning. Most of it includes mouse-over definitions.
> 
> It was kindly beta'ed by the wonderful Morbane. Any remaining rough patches are, of course, mine.

PART ONE

Cool was the breeze in the evening, along the darkened street.  
The city was retiring, closing shutters at every suite.  
But even in that stillness, you could hear the faintest sound,  
Of the music that was playing -  
     playing, swaying -  
The music faintly playing from the jazz band underground.

The bootlegger's car was a racer, a brand-new Model T.  
The back piled high with brandy, with gin and Scotch whisky.  
He’d run a load from the mountains, arrived at the fall of night,  
And he drove with his eyes a-twinkle,  
     His eyes a-gaily twinkled,  
He drove with his eyes a-twinkle as he headed for the site.

He braked as he neared the business, brought his car to the side of the road.  
He leapt to the back of the breezer, and then brought out his load.  
He whistled his way through the storefront, and made his way down to the bar,  
Where the preacher’s bob-haired daughter,  
     Bess, the preacher’s daughter,  
Daubed her slender wrists with the scent of Shalimar.

And there behind the counter, the glasses banged with force,  
While Tim the bartender listened to the evening run its course.  
His lips were thinned and angry, but he poured with a steady hand,  
And he loved the preacher’s daughter,  
     the preacher’s kohl-eyed daughter.  
He clenched his jaw and listened over the sound of the band -

“Give me some cash now, baby, I’m headed back on the trail;  
They promised me some bathtub gin, I’ll bring it without fail -  
But lately I’ve been thinking, since they know I’m running here,  
I’ll travel by the moonlight,  
     Expect me in the moonlight,  
I'll make my runs in the moonlight, and get back to you, my dear.”

She gave him the kiss he asked for. Their lips were locked in sin.  
Then she mixed a Mary Pickford; she drank and he joined in.  
Their lips upon the same glass shared grenadine and rum,  
And they tasted each other’s sweetness  
     (He blessed her for her sweetness!)  
He licked his lips clean of her sweetness, then turned and left the drum.

PART TWO

The bartender watched Bess keenly; she turned and tossed her head.  
She went upstairs to the salon. Her stomach felt like lead.  
Then one by one the patrons began to filter in,  
She asked them for the password,  
     (a coded request for the password!)  
They answered with the password, and a splifficated grin.

But wait! as the clock struck midnight, a ghastly sight ensued:  
a prohibition agent, and a gang of boys in blue.  
They swept right past the entry, and made for the secret door.  
Bess cried out loud in horror-  
     The sight of them was horror! -  
Bess gave a cry in horror and the leading agent swore.

They took the girl and they grabbed her, a hand clapped round her throat!  
She could not move or struggle, merely watch the coppers gloat.  
They dragged her down to the basement, a prisoner of their war -  
Then the leading man poured whiskey,  
     He poured a beltof whiskey,  
Drank a belt of whiskey, then smashed the glass on the floor.

The patrons went wild with panic; as one they made for the stairs.  
But the boys in blue were waiting, and caught them in their snares.  
Their faces plain in the dim light, the fuzz had got them made,  
And the handcuffs clinked and held them,  
     The handcuffs tightly held them,  
The policemen surely held them, but one man got away.

They all went down to the station, where the captain laughed with glee.  
He separated the patrons, told Bess “You’ll come with me.”  
They sat her down at a table, they gave her paper and pen,  
And they told her, “Be a sweetheart,”  
     They told her “there’s a sweetheart,”  
They laughed and called her sweetheart, and bade her tell them then.

She sat and stared for a moment, and then she spat in spite.  
“I don’t know from nothing,” she lied, and her eyes were bright.  
The captain banged his fist down, and loomed both tall and dark.  
“You’ll name your bold supplier!  
     We’re after your supplier.  
Just give us your supplier - ” Bess laughed. “I’m not your nark.”

They scolded and cajoled her. They bribed her all night long.  
They offered her a full pass - she said they’d read her wrong.  
“We’ll get him sooner or later,” the captain promised, grim.  
“You see, you ought to tell us -  
     It’s best for you to tell us.  
They’re all the same, these fellas - ” Then Bess laid eyes on Tim.

“I didn’t want it this way,” he told her, low and grave.  
“We’re going to get this settled; I know that you’ll be brave.  
Just turn in that rumrunner. He’s not any good to you.”  
Tim smiled, shy and hopeful -  
     Bess saw his smile was hopeful -  
Tim smiled, triumphant, hopeful, but Bess was always true.

They left her there at the table, but didn’t leave the room.  
She edged her chair to the window, acknowledging their doom.  
The captain’s force was mighty; they’d watch the roads to town.  
The bootlegger was running -  
     Running - Running -  
The bootlegger was running, and they would hunt him down.

She sat a moment in silence. She wracked her brains in doubt.  
The captain sighed frustration. “All right, boys. Let’s clear out.”  
Her heart froze cold with anguish, and then over her fright,  
She called out to the captain -  
     Bess called out for the captain.  
Her words halted the captain. She said “He’ll come tonight.”

PART THREE

They set Bess up in the salon. She could hardly bear to wait,  
As she listened for her lover. His Ford was running late.  
And faintly from the basement, she heard the jazz band play -  
They kept the music ringing,  
     Kept the jazz band swinging,  
They kept the music playing, to lure him to the fray.

The clock ticked by so slowly. Bess had to strain to hear.  
With every passing minute, she felt her mounting fear.  
The captain sat behind her, hidden behind her chair.  
His pistol at the ready,  
     He held his pistol ready,  
The captain’s pistol ready, and in Bess’s heart a prayer.

“We’ll get that rotgut peddler,” the captain muttered low.  
“Cripple crime in the city with one conclusive blow!”  
Then he sized Bess up and nodded, a smirk upon his lips.  
“Let’s put the past behind us.”  
     (Just put the past behind us?)  
“We'll get this mess behind us.” And he placed his hand on her hips.

But as Bess's heart beat faster, a rumbling noise was heard.  
The captain’s fingers tightened, and he told Bess, “Not one word.”  
The Ford pulled up to the sidewalk, the captain patted his gun;  
And both heard a young man whistle,  
     Bess heard the familiar whistle.  
She heard the bootlegger whistle, and she screamed out one word: “Run!”

PART FOUR

Her bed was cold and lonely, the cell was hard and gray.  
She’d been there at the county jail for two nights and a day.  
The clothes were old and scratchy, and made her soft skin chafe.  
But she’d serve her sentence gladly,  
     Spend her sentence gladly,  
She’d stay there for a dozen years if it meant that he was safe.

And then as the sun was setting at the fall of the second night,  
Bess heard a voice she knew too well, angling for a fight.  
She could not make out phrases, though his meaning was quite clear,  
Then Bess heard the sound of gunfire,  
     The rapid rapport of gunfire.  
Bess heard the sound of gunfire, and could tell the shots were near.

Amid the rain of bullets that was heard within the cell,  
Bess clasped her hands in rapture for the one she knew so well.  
And then a cry rang out from many voices all as one:  
Something new was coming,  
     The bootlegger was coming!  
The bootlegger was coming, with more than just a gun.

The crash of the glass was striking through the concrete walls of the jail!  
The sound of the flames as they crackled made Bess’s face grow pale.  
She could not see from her recess, and this could be the end:  
But she’d give her life for her lover,  
     She’d lay it down for her lover.  
She’d give her life for her lover, her partner and her friend.

Outside, the fire was raging, but it did not last for long.  
The bootlegger was youthful, and all his plans gone wrong!  
He’d heard of what had happened, how Bess had saved his skin,  
And he’d come to rescue his sweetheart,  
     Bess, his bob-haired sweetheart,  
His lively, lovely sweetheart, locked fast inside the pen.

But he had no head for planning, and he’d never seen the jail.  
Although he brought his weapons, his scheme was doomed to fail.  
He soon ran out of bullets, and threw his cocktail wide:  
The fire was smothered quickly -  
     The fire was beaten quickly -  
The fire extinguished quickly, and with it went his pride.

The boys in blue recovered, and he did not travel far.  
They wrestled him to the sidewalk, just feet from his smoking car.  
They set upon him with batons, and cuffed him there on the ground.  
When they raised him up he was bleeding,  
     His face was bruised and bleeding,  
The policemen carried him, bleeding, and he didn’t make a sound.

PART FIVE

Bess tossed her head at the lawyers, turned up her nose at the bench,  
But she eyed her co-defendant, and still felt her heart clench.  
The bootlegger was haughty, though charged with crimes most dire,  
He stood there like a statue,  
     For all the world like a statue,  
He stood there like a statue, and ignored the judge’s ire.

“You heard me right, I did it,” he answered, “on the level.”  
A smile crossed his features: “And Tim can go to the devil.”  
But he paused and his voice softened, and then he glanced at Bess.  
“She didn’t know what she was doing.  
     No, it was all my doing.  
She didn’t know what she was doing. I got her into this mess.”

Bess wanted badly to protest, but she could not testify.  
To save her bold young sweetheart, they knew that she would lie.  
The preacher stood as her witness; his hand on the Bible shook,  
But he argued for his daughter -  
     Fought to save his daughter -  
Swore on the God he honored that she was not a crook.

The judge was a man of reason, with a young girl of his own.  
He considered the facts before him, the case as it was known.  
He gave the girl probation, with the preacher and his wife;  
But not for the bootlegger,  
     No, not for the bootlegger.  
As for the bootlegger, he'd be locked up for life.

…

_And all alone in the prison, the bootlegger sits in his cell._  
_Accustomed to his treatment, to a life of private hell._  
_He’d do it all again, he thinks, though the words are harsh and tart._  
_But the thought of Bess, his darling,_  
      _His black-haired, bright-eyed darling_ ,  
_Just thinking of his darling pierces him in his heart._

_And every day with the mail call, the bootlegger’s heart beats fast._  
_He tears open a letter, each sweeter than the last._  
_She swears that she'll be faithful, her voice his guiding star,_  
_And he closes his eyes and remembers,_  
      _The bootlegger remembers,_  
_Remembers the sound of the jazz band and the scent of Shalimar._

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely loved the idea of a Prohibition AU. I only hope that my decision to write it in verse wasn't too strange! 
> 
> Happiest of Yuletides and a wonderful holiday season.


End file.
